


Common Appetities

by BarPurple



Series: Halloween House of Horror 2018 [8]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Ravenous (1999), The Legend of Barney Thomson (2015)
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling, Blood, Cannibalism, Gore, Horror, Multi, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 12:38:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16305395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: Barney moved to America to start a new life away from the shadow of his mother. Typical that his bad luck followed him.





	Common Appetities

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

A hulking shape stepped out of the shadows at the back of Thomson’s Barbershop. The weak light from the streetlamps glinted off a tooth and the edge of a knife. Barney sighed and backed up against the locked door of his shop.

“You really don’t want to try this pal.”

“And what is a short arse like you going to do to stop me?”

Barney knew exactly what he was going to do, the problem was he had no idea what his damn cursed luck was planning. The mugger stepped forward and Barney turned on his heel and scarpered down the alley.

The alley behind the shops on Main Street was perfectly straight, but filled with obstacles; the dumpsters, the boxes that the grocery store had out for recycling, and the bicycle that the pharmacist still hadn’t got repaired. Any of them could be a hazard, even the wobbly slabs were capable of sending a man sprawling to his doom.

None of these caused the wee accident Barney knew was about to happen. A sickening screech of metal and a wet gurgle stopped him. It took several shaky breaths before he was ready to turn around.

“How the fuck did that happen?”

The now very dead mugger was still standing and would have looked threatening with his arm raised over his head brandishing the knife. Would have been threatening if it wasn’t for the rusted ladder of the fire escape that had dropped and impaled him, pinning his arm to the top of his head. Barney edged closer and swallowed bile when he spotted the sharp end of the ladder sticking out of the man’s gut.

“Oh, fuck. Fucking hell. Fuck.”

Barney was terrified. Again. You’d have thought after all this time, he’d be used to this sort of shite. But no, here he was out of breath and feeling like he was going to puke his guts up, with a would-be mugger standing six foot away from him.

“I’m sorry pal. I didnae mean it. Yer were just waving that great big knife around and I panicked.”

If he wasn’t so much of a coward he would have stood and took the beating, or even the stabbing the man wanted to give him. It might not have been that bad, and there was a fair chance that he would have lived to tell the tale. Instead he’d run, knowing full well that it wouldn’t end well for the mugger.

“I’m cursed, you see. It was my Ma, she was the killer, I just had bad luck, but it’s all gotten so much worse.”

He’d thought his luck had changed. The police hadn’t even looked at him for the deaths after those four coppers topped each other in the woods. Then old Mr Henderson had passed away of natural causes and left him the barbershop and a tidy lump of cash. For the first time in his life Barney had felt free. He’d sold the shop and moved to the States, thinking a fresh start would do him the world of good.

For six months good had been an understatement. His shop was doing a roaring trade, he’d made some friends and was even enjoying a wee bit of flirting with the librarian. Then some dumbarse rumour had started that the comb cleaning fluid was a great high. It was shite of course, but late one night some desperate sod had barged into his shop and tried to hold him up. It had gone down just like it had with Wullie; Barney’s scissors sunk into the robber’s chest, and a dead body on the floor.

Of course, he didn’t get away with it quite as clean as he did with Wullie. He’d have given anything for Charlie to have blundered in, but his luck was an evil bitch. What had walked through the door and found him standing over a bloody body was proof that his mother hadn’t been the worst monster lurking in the world.

After that his bad luck returned in force. For the past six months he’d counted himself lucky if he made it a fortnight without killing anyone. This bastard had broken his current streak at nine days. Barney was tempted to kick him in the shin.

“You’re a fucker, you know that?”

A wee part of Barney’s tattered soul told him he could call the Sheriff. It had been an accident after all, there was no way that anyone would think he’d forced the ladder through the man’s head. In fact, whoever own this fire escape would cop it, because they’d let the ladder get into a bad way. He could call the Sheriff. He should call the Sheriff. He wouldn’t. He dialled a monster instead.

Calhoun picked up on the fourth ring; “Good evening Barney. Let me guess there’s been another wee accident?”

“Aye. A mugger. It’s a right mess.”

“This can’t keep happening, Barney.”

A cold sweat broke out on Barney’s brow; “You ain’t gonna help me then?”

He didn’t want to threaten Calhoun. The man was bloody terrifying, but he would if he had too. After all he knew where all of Calhoun’s skeletons were hidden, he’d helped him lug them to cold storage.

“Of course, I’ll help you Barney. I’ve never fed so well as I have these last few months.”

Barney shuddered. There would be no point threatening Calhoun. There was very little left of the bodies he’d helped move. The sick bastard ate them. Wendigo he called himself. How the fuck had Barney’s life come to this?

He was so wrapped up in contemplating his miserable existence that he didn’t notice a pair of blue eyes watching him from the window of the library.

 

-x-x-x-

 

Ives strolled into his home and dropped his jacket directly into the trash. Getting the blood out of something that cost so little was too much effort. Besides ‘Mr Calhoun’ was a very rich man. He’d been feeling a touch nostalgic when he last updated his identity; it had been a very long time since he’d used the name of the unfortunate priest, but it was an easy one to answer to, almost like slipping into a comfortable pair of slippers.

He poured himself a drink and smiled. Barney Thomson was a walking disaster; painfully awkward but a master of his trade. Ives appreciated a barber who didn’t blather on while wielding scissors or razor, and Barney took quiet while plying his trade to an extreme.

Very little scared Ives these days, but realizing he recognized Barney had given him pause. From what he recalled of the caustic way Cemolina had spoken of her son he doubted that she would have mentioned their little arrangement to him, but caution was wise. In his own way he rather missed the old whore turned murderer, she’d supplied him with fresh meat for a few months before his wanderlust had made him move on again and had been the closest thing to a friend he’d had in years.

After ascertaining that Barney had no idea who he was, he’d decided to eat him. A little tribute to dear Cemolina who’d always said her son was a terrible waste of space. Ives chuckled to himself as he recalled that night six months ago when he’d followed the junkie into the barbershop. He’d fully expected to either have to finish Barney off, or simply pick up his body after the junkie had killed him. It hadn’t turned out like that and Ives was oddly very pleased with his new arrangement.

Fate had chosen a strange plaything in Barney Thomson. He was either the luckiest bastard to walk the Earth, or the most unfortunate bugger under Heaven. He didn’t appreciate how what he referred to as his ‘bad luck’ had rendered him damn near unkillable. Ives certainly wasn’t going to tempt whatever forces surrounded Barney, no matter how tempting it was to carry out his plans to eat him occasionally. He couldn’t help but wonder if the man’s good fortune would pass to him via his flesh.

Ives finished his drink and strolled into his study. Putting Barney’s curious talent to one side for the moment, he had a small problem of his own to deal with. Someone was stealing from his larders. He’d suspected Barney at first, thinking the man had decided to take the limb or two as insurance. He was far to squeamish to be eating them, but being able to throw the Sheriff a bone, as it were, would be a plan if the focus of the law turned upon him.

He’d dismissed Barney as a suspect. The man was petrified of the Sheriff and turned in to a stammering mess if she so much as wished him good morning. Setting the cameras up in his larders had been a calculated risk. There was a chance that the CCTV feeds could be hacked and then he would be in very hot water, but he needed to know who he was dealing with.

As he settled down to watch the feeds the cat that had adopted him finally deigned to grace him with its presence. He scratched it’s furry head and said; “What do we think, Puss? Whose been pilfering from our supplies?”

The cat just purred at him. Ives had expected to have to spend a long night waiting for a glimpse of his thief, but in less than an hour there was movement on the screen. The cat grumbled its displeasure as he leaned forward to peer closer at the image.

“Well, this is certainly surprising.”

Of all the people he’d considered, he’d never once thought it would be the little librarian raiding his larder.

“Miss Belle French. Whatever are you up to?”


End file.
